CHAPTER 31
CARTER
When Darlene announced my neighborhood, I wanted to hurl myself at her in slow motion and clamp my hand over her mouth. But it was too late, and I wasn’t living in an action movie.
So I seethed like it was my job. I finished up my shift, watching Emily leave with Fabian, checking through the window to make sure she got in the car okay, as if that were my job too. Which it wasn’t. Darlene was my job, and she was a lot tougher to watch than her choreographer.
At a West Hollywood restaurant, I stood outside the private room Darlene’s manager had gotten for a late dinner. I was a spectacle in my stillness and seriousness. People looked at me in the crowded dining room, wondering who was on the other side of the door.
I watched them. They watched me.
When Officer Brian Muldoon brought my sorry seventeen-year-old ass to the boxing ring, they were watching me too. Older men of color, mostly. A few white dudes. I thought I was tough, but those guys? They could wring me out and hang me to dry.
The ring had cleared, and Brian announced that I’d made a choice to get in the ring or get arrested for assault. He didn’t say I’d assaulted his son, he just said win or lose, I was going home. I’d made a choice.
The guys seemed amused, as if I wasn’t the first screwed-up kid in the ring. The smell of tobacco from the open door cut through the sweat-heavy air.
Muldoon, still in full uniform, held up his bare fists and bounced. I was too good for technique. Too cool. I usually planted my feet and hammered whoever was in front of me.
His jab was light but well placed. I saw stars at the edge of my vision but recovered quickly. I caught a left in the cheek. More stars. A dull crack. I hadn’t even gotten a punch in, but it wasn’t like I was hurt either. I’d gotten hit plenty in my life.
Muldoon stopped bouncing and put down his hands.
“You gonna hit me?”
I thought about it. Imagined it. Knew I could do it. He was in his mid-thirties and heavy with a thick polyester uniform. If he was going to stand there with his defenses down, I could punch his clock pretty good. Probably get two quick shots in before he recovered or the guys pulled me off him.
“Well?” he said. “You gonna?”
I didn’t know what the test was, but I knew I was going to fail it.
“Nah.”
“Afraid?”
I shrugged, watching all the guys watch me.
“They ain’t gonna snitch. It’s okay. Come at me.”
I could. I really could.
“Forget it. Hit me if you gotta. I’m good.”
“Why not? You only hit kids?”
He was trying to goad me. I never hit anyone smaller than I was.
“You’re too old. And that uniform’s too ugly. I feel bad for your sorry ass.”
Everyone laughed. I thought I was going to get the shit beaten out of me for sure, but Brian bent over and laughed. I just stood there like a knucklehead.
Brian held his hand out to shake and put the other on my shoulder.
“I knew you weren’t one hundred percent shit. Now you can act like it.”
Brian’s son eventually became an actor. Soaps, mostly. Boxing fixed his attitude before he got his face smashed. I saw him sometimes, and his dad was still easy to find even twenty-plus years later.
McDerby’s was a block away from the boxing club. Once we were of age, Brian took Devon and me there after we’d spent enough time pounding the heavy bag.
Emily had broken my trust that afternoon. She’d told a roomful of people where my family lived. I knew she didn’t intend to hurt us, and I knew knowing my neighborhood wasn’t a big deal, but Emily Barrett should know better than anyone how important security was. I needed to put it into perspective, and I knew I could get it at McDerby’s.
When I sat next to Brian, he didn’t look away from the TV. The ping and beep of arcade games came through the old soul tunes that were the only jukebox options.
Rick, the bartender, brought me a beer.
“Nice to see you,” Brian said.
“Same.”
He pointed his bottle at the TV. “Fucking Dodgers.”
“No shit.”
We drank in silence for a while. Brian had been exactly what I imagined a father would be. Strict. Tough as nails. Unforgiving.
Maybe I was everything he imagined a son would be. Or everything his son wasn’t.
“How’s your new detail?”
I’d been a private bodyguard for years since I left the force, but he still called it my “new detail.”
“Busy.”
“The kid?”
“Looks like his mother.”
“Thank God for that.”
Dash Wallace, the Dodgers shortstop, hit a home run to center field, and the ten guys sitting at the bar erupted in cheers.
“How’s Devon?” I asked. “I think I saw him in a deodorant commercial.”
“You did. National spot. Good money, that.” Brian grew up in New York and spoke in a soupy code of nouns and adjectives. “Something on your mind?”
I tipped the bottle to the bottom edge and rolled it, making a line of condensation on the napkin.
“After Louise died,” I said, rolling the bottle even after the moisture was gone, “you ever get involved with anyone else? A woman?”
“Thanks for clarifying.” He smiled a little, letting the bottle rest on his lower lip before pouring beer past it.
“Fuck off. I just want to know how you handled it.”
“Handled what?”
He and I could go on like this for hours, throwing half sentences around until we’d avoided saying anything. But I didn’t have patience for that.
“There’s this woman.”
He looked away from the TV without moving his bottle, which stood erect in his hand like a green glass soldier. I hadn’t mentioned a woman in years. This could really take all night, or I could make a stupid joke and get out of it.
“I’m not going to get all warm and fuzzy on you. But she’s special. Can we leave it at that?”
“It’s your show.”
“But Phin. Bringing in someone else could fuck with that. She says the wrong thing to the wrong person . . . it could all go to shit, and there’s a lot at stake.”
“Jesus Christ, kid. No one told you to not get involved with a woman. Not me, at least.”
“So why are you still single?”
He shrugged. He didn’t want to talk about it. He never wanted to talk about it. He’d been on a gang task force and paid the ultimate price. Louise’s death was a jailed gang leader’s revenge.
My situation was different, but similar enough to draw a comparison.
“I’m single because.” He made no move to add to the sentence.
“Because why?”
“Because I drink too much beer. Gave me a gut. Girls don’t like it. You look good. Should get yourself laid sometime.” He turned back to the TV, where a commercial advertised little blue pills.
I finished my beer convinced that I’d done right. Emily needed to go. Maybe when Phin was out of the house and Mom was gone, I’d get myself someone.
“Maybe I’ll just get a gut instead.”
“Suit yourself.”
I would.
The inning ended poorly.
I was about to clap Brian on the back and thank him for nothing when the bartender changed the channel. Entertainment Live! was mid-show, and my employer sat in a chair on one side of a big screen. The anchor sat on the other side. On the screen between them, a camera panned over yelling, happy faces crowded together outside the studio.
“She’s picking fans for a surprise show,” the bartender said. “My girlfriend’s there trying to get tickets. Crazy.”
The shift schedule said Emily was with her. She was probably keeping out of the way of the cameras, but I watched. Seeing someone I knew on TV was strange. I’d never gotten used to seeing my sister on TV. Not when she was on her show or in an interview. I couldn’t believe anyone besides a psychiatrist wanted to hear what she had to say.
“If she wins, are you going?” Brian asked.
“Hell no.”
I saw someone I knew outside the building. Darlene pointed to him. Lucky winner. The tall, bony guy from Vince’s driveway. I couldn’t miss that Adam’s apple. The MC on the Strip told him, and he hugged his girlfriend. The camera moved to the next potential winner.
“Come on, asshole,” called a boozer from the end of the bar. “Put the game back on.”
I watched for Vince. If he was there, he was close to Emily, and I had to call it in to security. The picture flipped to the game. I was never so disappointed to see Jack Youder at second base in my life.
I clapped Brian on the back.
“Later.”
“Yeah.”
I was almost out the door when he called my name. Half-in, half-out of the bar, I looked back at him.
“You don’t want a gut.”
I made a fist at him. He made a fist back.
I’d forgotten why I went to the bar. Forgotten what I’d asked and what he answered. My whole being was caught up in protecting Emily.