The Sweet Forever by George P. Pelecanos

Author:George P. Pelecanos [Pelecanos, George P.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Mystery & Detective, Hard-Boiled, General
ISBN: 9780316204507
Google: 8TtJAgAAQBAJ
Amazon: 0316235148
Publisher: Little, Brown
Published: 1998-01-01T11:00:00+00:00

Anthony Taylor uncurled his fingers from around the criss-cross metal grate. They had put him behind the cage in the backseat. Officer Murphy had turned up the volume on the radio mounted underneath the dash so Anthony could hear. Anthony could see some kind of shotgun propped barrel up next to Tutt, the white cop with the mean eyes. Murphy was driving, sitting up straight. Anthony thought that Officer Murphy looked bad behind the wheel. Murphy stopped the car halfway down Fairmont.

“All right, young man,” said Murphy. “This is it right here, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Come on, I’ll walk you to the door.”

Anthony had to wait for Murphy to come around, since there wasn’t any handle on the door to let himself out. Anthony figured that this was on purpose, like; it was usually criminals sat back where he was at now.

Murphy opened the door, and Anthony stepped out onto the government strip of grass. A couple of kids from the neighborhood had come close to the car, along with two boys Anthony recognized from Clifton Terrace.

“Don’t say nothin’, Officer Murphy,” Anthony said softly. “Okay?”

Murphy put his hand on the boy’s arm, walked him up the sidewalk to his row house. Murphy almost chuckled, watching Anthony affect a swagger as he looked behind him and winked one time at his friends.

Murphy rang the buzzer on the front door.

A middle-aged woman, broad shouldered with large, artillery-shell breasts, opened the door. She registered Murphy’s uniform and quickly frowned down on Anthony.

“What’d you go and do now, son?” she asked.

“Ain’t do nothin’, Granmom.”

“He’s in no trouble.” Murphy extended his hand. “Officer Murphy.”

“Lula Taylor.”

She wasn’t a bad-looking woman. Strong and tall, about ten years past pretty. A large mole lodged against the fold of her right nostril would give some men pause. It looked like a beetle had crawled up and died right on her face.

“Why’d you bring him home, then?”

“Earlier on, some boys tried to rough him up. Thought I’d escort him back.”

“Thank you. Appreciate you lookin’ out for my boy.”

“Pleasure.”

Murphy looked past her, into the smoky living room where the Wattstax album was playing on the stereo. The figure of a man quickly crossed the room and ducked out of sight.

“Everything all right?” said Lula.

“Yes, ma’am. Was just going to say, might be better if Anthony stays in tonight.”

“Aw, man,” said Anthony.

“I don’t let him out alone at night,” said Lula, “if that’s what you think.”

“Ain’t gonna stay around here all weekend,” said Anthony, “listenin’ to you and your friend argue and—”

“Anthony!”

“But Granmom—”

“Don’t you take a tone with me. Now go on up to your room, son. Go on.”

Anthony shook his head. “See you, Officer Murphy.”

“All right, Anthony. You take care.”

Anthony went inside and up the stairs.

Lula looked behind her, then back at Murphy. “That all?”

“Just keep an eye on your grandson, Miss Taylor.”

Lula narrowed her eyes. “You sayin’ that I don’t?”

“No, ma’am, I’m not sayin’ that.”

“ ’Cause I do the best I can. Work a full-time job and pay for his food and shelter and clothing, including that NFL jacket and those fifty-dollar sneakers he likes to wear.

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