Hard Revolution_ A Novel Part 19

"What, you gonna make a black man stand out in the hall?"

"Come on in," said Derek.

Derek closed the door behind Dennis. Both had a seat on the couch.

"You want a c.o.ke, somethin'?" said Derek.

"Nah, I'm good."

Dennis commented on the stereo, how clean the sound was and how the speakers must have cost big money. Derek told him it was the tubes in the amplifier, not the speakers, that gave the sound its crispness, as it had been explained to him by the salesman, as he'd explained it to Dennis many times before.

"Gonna get me a box like that someday," said Dennis.

"You should."

"Gotta get my own place first, I guess."

"You should do that, too."

Dennis looked around the room and took it in. "You got it all, don't you?"

Derek had heard this kind of remark from his brother before, usually said in a different way. But there was no jealousy or rancor in Dennis's voice now.

"I don't have a penny," said Derek, downplaying the surroundings and also telling the truth. "Payin' rent money's like throwing your money out in the street. What I need to do is like Pop did. Invest in a house."

"Sounds like a plan to me."

A silence came between them. The music ended, and the silence was amplified. Derek didn't know why his brother had stopped by or what they were supposed to talk about now. Lately, they'd had less and less to discuss.

"Look here, Dennis . . ."

"What?"

"I'm going out soon. Lydell and me are going by this party, over near Howard."

"Can I come?"

"Wouldn't be a good idea," said Derek, too quickly. "I mean, it's not like you'd know anyone, right?"

"Relax. I'm just playin' with you, man. You and me don't exactly swing with the same crowd."

Derek was instantly ashamed for trying to talk his brother out of coming with him and Lydell. There was a time when he'd looked way up to Dennis. When, aside from his father, his big brother had been his main hero. Back then, he would have given anything for Dennis to ask him to come along to a party or anywhere else. In those days, it felt like a privilege just to walk by his side.

"You're welcome to stay here tonight," said Derek. "Put some s.p.a.ce between you and Pop. I know it's been rough lately between you two."

"Yeah, it's been rough. On my side of things, it's hard to live up to his expectations. But I can dig it. I been a disappointment to him, I know."

Derek said nothing.

"Think I might have turned a corner, though," said Dennis.

"How's that?"

"Seein' things more clearly, is all I'm trying to say."

"Somethin' happen?"

"Wasn't like a lightning bolt came shootin' out of heaven. It came to me slow. The point is, it came. What I was thinking was, a man's got to have a plan."

"True."

"Doesn't have to be a big plan."

"I hear you."

"You were talking about trying to hook me up with a job. I think I'd like to look into that. I mean, it would be something, right?"

"Sure would be," said Derek. "It would be a start."

"Nothing too strenuous, 'cause of this back of mine."

"Right."

"Anyway," said Dennis. "I was on the bus, heading down to U. Saw Clifton Street and pulled the cord. Thought I'd stop by and see you. If you were wondering why I came by."

"You're welcome anytime."

Dennis picked his book up off the coffee table and rose from the couch. "Well, let me get on out of here, then."

"You're not gonna stay?"

"I don't think so. Gonna catch a movie, somethin', then head back to the house. Talk to Pop the way I talked to you."

Derek stood and shook Dennis's hand. "Thought you looked different when you walked in here."

"I'm still me."

"So we shouldn't be expecting you to buy any tickets to this year's policemen's ball, huh?"

"I'm angry, man. I'm always gonna be angry about the way things are. And I'm gonna keep speaking my mind."

"Nothin' wrong with that."

"I just hope I live to see a better world."

"I do, too."

"But I want you to know somethin', Derek. I been angry, but I ain't never been angry at you. you. Matter of fact, I always been proud of you, man. Always." Matter of fact, I always been proud of you, man. Always."

Derek took a step toward his brother. Dennis brought him in and held him tight. They patted each other on the back. They broke apart and Dennis stood straight.

"I felt that," said Dennis, wiping at his eye.

"What?"

"You tried to grab my rod."

"No, I didn't."

"You d.a.m.n sure did. did."

"Go ahead, man."

"I'm gone," said Dennis. He smiled and went out the door.

Later, Derek Strange stood at his southern window, watching his brother limping down the hill of 13th Street. Thinking, I should've told him I was proud of him, too.

EIGHTEEN.

AFTER WORK, DOMINIC Martini went down to the 6,000 block of Georgia, entered John's Lunch, and took a seat on a stool at the L-shaped counter. He ordered a Swiss steak dinner and had a smoke while old man Deoudes prepared the meal. There was no kitchen in the back, so Martini knew the place was okay. That was one of the few useful things his father had taught him: "Eat in a place has the kitchen out front. That way, you gonna know it's clean." Martini went down to the 6,000 block of Georgia, entered John's Lunch, and took a seat on a stool at the L-shaped counter. He ordered a Swiss steak dinner and had a smoke while old man Deoudes prepared the meal. There was no kitchen in the back, so Martini knew the place was okay. That was one of the few useful things his father had taught him: "Eat in a place has the kitchen out front. That way, you gonna know it's clean."

John Deoudes's wife, whose name was Evthokia but who the customers called Mama, was behind the counter. Their youngest son, Logan, back from the navy in '65, was working the grill. On the stools and in the booths were neighborhood old-timers and other locals who were just getting off work. Martini saw one of the butchers from Katz's, the kosher market across the street, take two steaks from inside his jacket and slip them to Mama. She put one in the refrigerator for her family and gave the other to Logan to cook for the butcher. Martini realized he knew everyone in here by name or sight. This place hadn't changed since he was a kid.

He had his food, a cup of coffee, and another smoke. Logan Deoudes, compact and muscular, came by and said h.e.l.lo.

"Whaddaya know, Dom?"

"Nothin' much. You still got that dog?"

"Greco? He's breathin'."

"Nice dog."

Deoudes looked him over. "You all right?"

Martini paid up, put some change on the counter, and left John's. He went south on Georgia Avenue. He loved his Nova but usually walked from his mother's house to the station and back again. He was never in a hurry to get home.

Across the street, a small crowd was gathered around the box office of the Sheridan. When they were teenagers, Martini and his brother, Angelo, used to climb up a fire ladder that led to the roof and sneak in a window that opened to a hall near the projection booth. If the manager, a guy named Renaldi, didn't nail them right away, they'd hide in the men's room until the show began, then take their seats in the dark. The theater was the hot spot of the neighborhood, an A house that was also a good place to try and pick up girls. Now they ran second-bill westerns, Universal Bs, and Greek movies on Wednesday nights.

Tonight was a George Peppard picture, Rough Night in Jericho, Rough Night in Jericho, had Dean Martin in it, too. All Italian Americans knew that Martin's real name was Martini. Angie used to ask him, "Hey, Dom, you think we're related, like?" and Martini would smack him on the back of the head and say, "Yeah, and Nancy Sinatra's our sister, too." had Dean Martin in it, too. All Italian Americans knew that Martin's real name was Martini. Angie used to ask him, "Hey, Dom, you think we're related, like?" and Martini would smack him on the back of the head and say, "Yeah, and Nancy Sinatra's our sister, too."

Dominic Martini would have given his life, right now, to take back all the times he'd smacked his brother or called him stupid or a f.a.g. He was only trying to toughen him up, but still. If he could see him again, just once more, he'd hold him tight.

He went down to Lou's, a pool hall next to the firehouse, and got a game. Someone put "The Ballad of the Green Berets" on the jukebox, and a couple of drunks started singing along. Martini called his pocket, sunk the eight, and handed his stick to a guy he didn't know. One of the drunks stepped out of his way as he walked across the poolroom. Martini was known around the neighborhood as the marine who'd seen action in Vietnam. He supposed he was feared. What the drunk didn't know, what none of them knew, was that his fighting days were done. He lit a cigarette as he left the place and headed west.

He walked onto the grounds of Fort Stevens, going along the cannons, hearing the pop of the flag and the lanyard clanging against the pole. His history was in this park. He'd had his first smoke here, got s.h.i.tfaced on hard liquor here, hid beer and things he'd stolen in the ammo bunker built into the hill. As a kid, he'd run across this field from Officer Pappas, laughing and yelling "Jacques" over his shoulder as he hotfooted it in the direction of his house. He'd busted his cherry here one night, when he and a couple of his buddies pulled a train on a girl named Laurie, who they all called Whorie, after she'd dared them to. He thought it was all good fun and he never thought the things he was doing would have any bearing on what he would be as a man. But now it seemed that all of it had brought him to where he was today.

He'd read the newspaper on his break, back at the station. Buzz had said not to worry, that a hit-and-run on a colored guy wouldn't even make the news. He was wrong. It was only a few paragraphs in the City section, but it was there. Vernon Wilson was seventeen, nearing graduation at Roosevelt High School, working, at the time of his death, as a delivery boy for Posin's deli. He had been accepted to Grambling College and was planning to start there in the fall. He was survived by a mother and a brother. Police were said to be working on the case but had no concrete leads at this time.

Martini cursed himself as he left the park and walked down Piney Branch Road.

Buzz had been wrong about plenty. The newspaper people and the police did "give a s.h.i.t." They were going to look for the killers, even though the boy was "just a c.o.o.n."

Buzz had told him to stop crying about something he couldn't change. Buzz had told told him to keep his mouth shut. He would do that, because he always did what Buzz said. But there was a part of Martini that hoped the truth would come to light. He felt it was important for people to understand that what happened to Vernon Wilson was unprovoked and in no way his fault. Wilson's mother deserved to know this. His brother did, too. him to keep his mouth shut. He would do that, because he always did what Buzz said. But there was a part of Martini that hoped the truth would come to light. He felt it was important for people to understand that what happened to Vernon Wilson was unprovoked and in no way his fault. Wilson's mother deserved to know this. His brother did, too.

Martini entered his house on Longfellow. The smell of garlic and basil was heavy as he went through the door. The air inside was warm and still. His mother, Angela, sat in his father's old chair, wearing black, watching a Hazel Hazel rerun on their old RCA Victor. She turned her head and looked at him. Her face was waxy in the light. rerun on their old RCA Victor. She turned her head and looked at him. Her face was waxy in the light.

"Ma."

"There's Sunday gravy and pasta in the kitchen."

"I already ate."

His mother turned back to the television. Martini went up to his room and lay down on the bed.

THEY HAD PUT Kenneth Willis in one of those rooms at the Ninth Precinct house, had a table and a chair and nothing else. The table was bolted to the floor, and beneath it ran an iron bar. They had cuffed one of his hands to the bar. His face was f.u.c.ked from when he'd fallen to the sidewalk, and also from the beat-down they'd given him in this room. He'd said something smart to one of the arresting officers, and that had set them off. They must have known about his priors, too; the statutory rape charges on his sheet always got their blood up. Willis was used to getting hit by the police, he expected it, even, so it wasn't any shock. He could have used a little whiskey, though, something, to rub on his gums. White boy had knocked loose one of his teeth. Kenneth Willis in one of those rooms at the Ninth Precinct house, had a table and a chair and nothing else. The table was bolted to the floor, and beneath it ran an iron bar. They had cuffed one of his hands to the bar. His face was f.u.c.ked from when he'd fallen to the sidewalk, and also from the beat-down they'd given him in this room. He'd said something smart to one of the arresting officers, and that had set them off. They must have known about his priors, too; the statutory rape charges on his sheet always got their blood up. Willis was used to getting hit by the police, he expected it, even, so it wasn't any shock. He could have used a little whiskey, though, something, to rub on his gums. White boy had knocked loose one of his teeth.

The one who'd hit him, Officer James Mahaffie, and another one, Officer William Durkin, both in plainclothes, were in the room with him now. Standing over him and getting real close, how they liked to do.

Willis knew how to play these two. Give them back the lip they gave you. That's how you got respect from their kind.

"What were you gonna do with this, then?" said Durkin, holding the single stocking they'd recovered from Willis's slacks.

"This girl I been datin'," said Willis, "she left it over my crib. I was gonna return it to her."

"What, this girl only has one leg?"

"She has one p.u.s.s.y. That's all I need to know."

"You're a real stud. I'm just curious: You ever had a woman over the age of fourteen?"

"Your mother was," said Willis.

Mahaffie, big and blond, slapped him viciously across the face. Willis put his tongue to the loose tooth, moved it, and tasted blood. He felt dizzy and hot.

"A gun and a stocking," said Durkin. "You were on your way to knock over something when we nailed you outside your place. Isn't that right?"

"Huh?"

"Tell us about your accomplice. Where were you headed when we picked you up?"

"I was just goin' out for a walk."

"Liar."

"What'd you say?"