King Suckerman

Twenty-Eight

Marcus Clay drove across the city, taking the Sousa Bridge over the river and into Anacostia Park. Clay, Karras, and Adamson walked down to the picnic area, where revelers still gathered, drinking, laughing, listening to music, and getting high.

Adamson had the pack slung over his shoulder. He nodded toward the end of the manicured grass where the tree line gave to a thin forest that ran upriver.

“Think I’ll take a walk in the woods, Marcus.”

“All right, Al. You take care.”

“Right.”

Adamson looked at Karras for a moment, then turned and jogged toward the woods. He entered the black space between the trees.

Clay said, “Come on.”

They walked down to the waterline, where they copped a joint from a Ward 8 resident their own age. Clay and Karras had a seat on the grass looking out across the Anacostia, the sky still bright in the west and thick with smoke.

Clay fired up the number. The two of them smoked it down without conversation, listening to Hendrix’s Are You Experienced? coming loud from a Gremlin parked behind them in the lot. Clay smiled. Probably some blood, back in the world. The brothers over there, they did love their Jimi. Listening to the music, it made Clay think of Rasheed; the image of Rasheed kept the smile on his face.

“Marcus?”

“What?”

“How can you be grinning like that tonight?”

“Just thinking of young Rasheed. Picturing him, is all. All the energy he had, how opinionated he was. How he was always so certain that he was right.”

“And now it’s okay to talk about him in a good way, is that what you’re saying? Because we took out the ones who took him?”

“Say it again?”

“You think we did the right thing.”

“I know we did.”

“I don’t know,” said Karras.

Across the river, boats had begun to return to their marinas, where brightly colored lights were strung along the docks. A houseboat threw a small wake that lapped at the bulkhead of the eastern shore.

“Dimitri?” said Clay. “You remember that time, I don’t know, I was just out of high school, nineteen sixty-six or somethin’ like that, I took that trip up to New York?”

“I remember.”

“Yeah. Took the train up there to get in a city game with Earl Manigault. Was eager to try, you know. And I found that game, too, right on One Hundred and Thirty-fifth Street. I knew I’d find it, ’cause I wanted it too bad, had practiced all summer long just for the chance.”

Karras almost smiled. “And he took your ass to school.”

“You don’t have to tell me. He damn sure did. That’s when I knew — I knew — I didn’t have it in me to be the best at ball. And that’s when I decided to go ahead and go for something else.’Course, the draft board had a different idea, sidetracked me a little bit. But I held on to that goal. To open my own business, build something for myself. And you know? I was right. I mean, look what happened to Earl. The streets claimed him, man, and here was a brother who could not be stopped on the court. But I think, what it was, he just didn’t have the vision to move on and get where he needed to be with his life. Like he was in hang time all the time, and he didn’t know how to get back down.”

“What’s your point?”

“You’re still up there, too, Dimitri.”

“Marcus—”

“Listen. Here’s what I been playin’ with in my mind: I want you to come work for me. I think you should.”

“Aw, come on, man.”

“I’m serious.”

“What, you and me and Cheek and Tate? That’s a bigger staff than you had before.”

“Need someone with some rock knowledge in that place. Dupont Circle ain’t exactly a hotbed of funk, man. Someone comes in lookin’ for a Mo the Rooster LP—”

“Mott the Hoople.”

“Whatever. And as far as overloading the staff goes, it ain’t gonna cost me, ’cause I’m not promising you much to start. I’m talking minimum wage.”

Karras looked over at Clay. “I don’t know, Marcus. I’m not much for holding a job where you gotta be somewhere every day at some special time. I wouldn’t want to let you down.”

“I got faith in you, man. More than you got in yourself. It doesn’t work out between us, you go your own way, that’s fine, too. I’m talkin’ about giving you a little stability right now, ’cause you need it.”

“Thanks, Marcus. But I gotta think about it, okay?”

“Think on it, then. I’d like you in there Tuesday morning, nine sharp, when we open back up.”

Karras lay back in the grass. He stared at the sky until his eyes grew heavy. When he heard Clay’s voice again, it was difficult to tell if Karras had slept or just been deep into his high. The sky had lightened, though, and there were stars in it instead of smoke.

“Mitri, man.”

Karras got up, resting on his elbows. The dewy grass felt cool against his bare feet. “What are we doin’?”

“Traffic should be easin’ up by now. I gotta get my ass home.”

“Al back yet?”

“Al ain’t comin’ back. Let’s go.”

It took an hour to get to Mount Pleasant. Clay let Karras out at the Karmann Ghia. Karras walked around to the Riviera’s open window.

“What about tomorrow?” said Karras.

“Goin’ to see Eddie Spags, early in the mornin’. Clarence Tate did me a big solid today. Gonna do one back for him. How about you?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’ll see you Tuesday mornin’, then, Dimitri. Nine A.M. sharp.”

“I’ll let you know.”

“Got to do it, man. It’s a new day.”

Clay and Karras locked hands. They looked deep into each other’s eyes.

“Take it light, Marcus.”

“Yeah,” said Clay. “You, too.”

Clay drove on, turned the corner, headed west on Brown. He parked in front of his house, locked the car, took the steps leading to his porch. Glancing up, Clay saw the light burning in the window of the bedroom he shared with Elaine Taylor.

Looking at the light, Marcus Clay smiled.