Free The Martini Shot by George Pelecanos Page B

that kid who ran with James Wallace. Wallace was with him, and so were a coupla Wallace’s boys. I nodded at Antuane, tryin to communicate to him, like, “Ain’t no thing, you bumpin me like that.” But Wallace stepped in and said somethin to me. I couldn’t even really hear it with all the crowd noise, but I could see by his face that he was tryin to step to me. I mean, he was right up in my face.
    We stared at each other for a few. I shoulda just walked away, right, but I couldn’t let him punk me out like that in front of the girl.
    Wallace’s hand shot up. Looked like a bird flutterin out of nowhere or somethin. Maybe he was just makin a point with that hand, like some do. But it rattled me, I guess, and I reacted. Didn’t even think about it, though I should’ve. My palms went to his chest and I shoved him back. He stumbled. I saw his eyes flare with anger, but there was that other thing, too, worse than me puttin my hands on him: I had stripped him of his pride.
    There was some yellin then from his boys. I just turned and bucked. I saw the bouncers started to move, talkin into their headsets and shit, but I didn’t wait. I bucked. I was out on the street pretty quick, runnin toward my place. I didn’t know what else to do.
    I heard Wallace and them behind me, comin out the Hole. They said my name. I didn’t look back. I ran to Morton and turned right. Heard car doors opening and slammin shut. The engine of the car turnin over. Then the cry of tires on the street and Wallace’s boys laughin, yellin shit out. I kept runnin toward Park Morton. My heart felt like it was snappin on a rubber string.
    There were some younguns out in the complex. They were sittin up on top of a low brick wall like they do, and they watched me run by. It’s always dark here, ain’t never no good kinda light. They got some dim yellow bulbs back in the stairwells, where the old-school types drink gin and shoot craps. They was back up in there, too, hunched down in the shadows. There was some kind of fog or haze out that night, too, it was kind of rollin around by that old playground equipment, all rusted and shit, they got in the courtyard. I was runnin through there, tryin to get to my place.
    I had to cross the little road in the back of the complex to get to my mother’s apartment. I stepped into it and that’s when I saw the black Maxima swing around the corner. Coupla Wallace’s boys jumped out while the car was still moving. I stopped runnin. They knew where I lived. If they didn’t, all they had to do was ask one of those younguns on the wall. I wasn’t gonna bring none of this home to my moms.
    Wallace was out of the driver’s side quick, walkin toward me. He was smilin and my stomach shifted. Antuane had walked back by the playground. I knew where he was goin. Wallace and them keep a gun, a nine with a fifteen-round mag, buried in a shoe box back there.
    â€œJunior,” said Wallace, “you done fucked up big.” He was still smilin.
    I didn’t move. My knees were shakin some. I figured this was it. I was thinkin about my mother and tryin not to cry. Thinkin about how if I did cry, that’s all anyone would remember about me. That I went out like a bitch before I died. Funny me thinkin about stupid shit like that while I was waitin for Antuane to come back with that gun.
    I saw Antuane’s figure walkin back out through that fog.
    And then I saw the spotlight movin across the courtyard, and where it came from. An MPD Crown Vic was comin up the street, kinda slow. The driver turned on the overheads, throwing colors all around. Antuane backpedaled and then he was gone.
    The cruiser stopped and the driver’s door opened. The white cop I’d seen earlier in the night got out. Sergeant Peters. My moms had told me his name. Told me he was all right.
    Peters was puttin on his hat as he stepped out. He had pulled his nightstick and his