Hell To Pay by George Pelecanos

Author:George Pelecanos [Pelecanos, George]
Language: eng
Format: epub

Chapter 18

GARFIELD Potter, Carlton Little, and Charles White spent most of Monday driving around Petworth, Park View, and the northern tip of Shaw, checking on their troops, looking for girls to talk to, drinking some, and staying high. Early in the evening they were back in their row house, hanging out in the living room, where the smoke of a blunt Little had recently fired up hung heavy in the air.

Potter had been trying to get up with a girl all afternoon, but he hadn’t been able to connect. He paced the room as Little and White sat on the couch playing Madden 2000 while an Outkast cut on PGC came loud from the box. White saw the shadow that had settled on Potter’s face, the look he got when the girl thing hadn’t gone his way. Truth was, most girls were afraid to be with Garfield Potter, something that had never crossed his mind.

Potter was working on his third forty of malt. He’d been drinking them down since early in the day.

“Y’all gonna play that kid shit all night?” said Potter.

“It’s the new one they got,” said Little.

“I ain’t give a good fuck about no cartoon football game,” said Potter. “Let’s go up to that field and see some real football.”

“That again?”

“I feel like smokin’ someone,” said Potter. He rubbed his hands together as he walked back and forth in the room. “Lorenze Wilder is gonna be got.”

“Ah, shit, D,” said Little. “Let me and Coon just finish this one game.”

Potter went over to the PlayStation base unit and hit the power button. The game stopped and the screen went over to the cable broadcast. Potter stood in front of the couch and stared at his childhood friends. Little started to say something but thought better of it, looking into Potter’s flat eyes.

“You want to go,” said Little, “we’ll go.”

Potter nodded. “Bring your strap.”

Charles White didn’t protest. He hoped they would not find this Lorenze Wilder up at the football field. He told himself that they would not. After all, they had gone back to the practice field a couple of times, and except for the first go-round when Wilder had been there, there hadn’t been nothin’ over there but a few parents, coaches, and some kids.

They met a few minutes later at the front door of the house, Potter wearing his skully. Both he and Little had dressed in dark, loose clothing. White had slipped on his favorite shirt, the bright orange Nautica pullover in that soft fleece, the one felt good against his skin.

“Take that shit off,” said Potter, looking at White’s shirt. “Like you wearin’ a sign says, Look at me.”

“Why you buggin’?” said White.

“’Cause I don’t want no one to remember us later on,” said Potter, talking carefully as he would to a child. “Could you be more stupid than you is?”

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