Free The Martini Shot by George Pelecanos Page A

fun of me and shit, standin there in my minimum wage uniform. But I do need some money. I’d like to buy me a nice car soon. I’m not talkin about some hooptie, neither.
    I did have an interview for this restaurant downtown, busin tables. White boy who interviewed kept sayin shit like, “Do you think you can make it into work on time?” and do you think this and do you think that? Might as well gone ahead and called me a nigger right to my face. The more he talked, the more attitude I gave him with my eyes. After all that, he smiled and sat up straight, like he was gonna make some big announcement, and said he was gonna give me a try. I told him I changed my mind and walked right out of there. Uncle Gaylen said I should’ve taken that job and showed him he was wrong. But I couldn’t. I can’t stand how white people talk to you sometimes. Like they’re just there to make their own selves feel better. I hired a Negro today, and like that.
    I am gonna take that test over, though.
    I changed my shirt and went out through the living room. My sister was watchin the 106 and Park videos on TV, her mouth around a straw, sippin on one of those big sodas. She’s startin to get some titties on her. Some of the slick young niggas in the neighborhood been commentin on it, too. Late for her to be awake, but it was Friday night. She didn’t look up as I passed. I yelled good-bye to my moms and heard her say my name from the kitchen. I knew she was back up in there ’cause I smelled the smoke comin off her cigarette. There was a ten-dollar bill sittin in a bowl by the door. I folded it up and slipped it inside my jeans. My mother had left it there for me. I’m tellin you, she is cool people.
    Outside the complex, I stepped across this little road and the dark courtyard real quick. We been livin here a long time, and I know most everyone by sight. But in this place here, that don’t mean shit.
    The Black Hole had a line goin outside the door when I got there. I went through the metal detector and let a white rent-a-cop pat me down while I said hey to a friend going into the hall. I could feel the bass from way out in the lobby.
    The hall was crowded and the place was bumpin. I could smell sweat in the damp air. Also chronic, and it was nice. Back Yard was doin “Freestyle,” off Hood Related, that double CD they got. I kind of made my way toward the stage, careful not to bump nobody, nodding to the ones I did. I knew a lot of young brothers there. Some of ’em run in gangs, some not. I try to know a little bit of everybody, you see what I’m sayin? Spread your friends out in case you run into some trouble. I was smilin at some of the girls, too.
    Up near the front I got into the groove. Someone passed me somethin that smelled good, and I hit it. Back Yard was turnin that shit out. I been knowin their music for like ten years now. They had the whole joint up there that night: I’m talkin about a horn section and everything else. I must have been up there close to the stage for about, I don’t know, an hour, sumshit like that, just dancing. It seemed like all of us was movin together. On “Do That Stuff,” they went into this extended drum thing, shout-outs for the hoodies and the crews; I was sweatin clean through my shirt, right about then.
    I had to pee like a motherfucker, but I didn’t want to use the bathroom in that place. All the hard motherfuckers be congregatin in there, too. That’s where trouble can start, just ’cause you gave someone the wrong kinda look.
    When the set broke I started to talkin to this girl who’d been dancin near me, smilin my way. I’d seen her around. Matter of fact, I ran ball sometimes with her older brother. So we had somethin to talk about straight off. She had that Brandy thing goin on with her hair, and a nice smile.
    While we was talkin, someone bumped me from behind. I turned around and it was Antuane,