“Hey… hey, nigger-lover!” someone had shouted across the parking lot. “Say hey, salt and pepper.”
Jezzie’s hand tightened around mine.
“Alex? Be cool. Just keep going,” Jezzie said to me.
“I’m right here,” I told her. “I’m as cool as can be.”
“Let it go. Just walk into the Cap Centre with me. They’re assholes. It doesn’t deserve a response.”
I let go of her hand. I walked in the direction of three men who were standing at the rear of a silver and blue four-by-four. Not Georgetown students, or St. John’s Redmen, either. The men were wearing parkas, and peaked hats with company or team logos. They were free, white, and over twenty-one. Old enough to know better.
“Who said that?” I asked them. My body felt wooden, unreal. “Who said, ‘Hey, nigger-lover’? Is that supposed to be funny? Am I missing a good joke here?”
One of them stepped forward to accept the credit. He spoke up from under a peaked Day-Glo Redskins hat. “What’s it to you? You wanna go three on one, Magic? That’s the way it’s gonna be.”
“I know it’s a little unfair, me against the three of you, but I might just do that,” I told him. “Maybe you can find a fourth real quick.”
“Alex?” I heard Jezzie coming up behind. “Alex, please don’t. Just walk away from them.”
“Fuck you, Alex,” one of the men said. “You need your lady’s help on this one?”
“You like Alex, honey? Alex your main man?” I heard. “Your very own jungle bunny?”
I heard a sharp snap behind my eyes. The sound of the snap seemed very real. I felt myself snap.
I hit Redskins Hat with my first punch. I pivoted smoothly, and smacked a second one of the trio on the side of his temple.
The first man went down hard, his ball hat flying like a Frisbee. The second guy was staggered. Out on his feet. He went down on one knee and stayed there, indefinitely. All the fight was out of him.
“I am so tired of shit like this happening. I’m sick of it.” I was shaking as I spoke.
“He had too much to drink, mister. We all did,” the guy who was still standing said. “He’s been all fucked up. Lot of pressure these days. Hell, we work with black guys. We got black friends. What can I say? We’re sorry.”
So was I. More than I cared to say to these assholes. I turned away from them, and Jezzie and I walked back to the car. My arms and legs felt as if they were made of stone. My heart was pounding like an oil derrick.
“I’m sorry,” I said to her. I felt a little sick. “I can’t take shit like that. I can’t walk away anymore.”
“I understand,” Jezzie said softly. “You did what you had to.” She was at my side. In this thing for the good and the bad.
We held one another inside my car for a long moment. Then we went home to be together.
CHAPTER 55
I GOT TO SEE Gary Murphy again on the first of October. “New evidence” was the stated reason. By that time, half the world had talked to Nina Cerisier. The “accomplice theory” had a life of its own.
We were using S.I.T. to scour the neighborhood around the Cerisier house. I’d tried everything from mug shot books to Identikit drawings with Nina Cerisier. So far, it hadn’t helped her find a likeness of the “accomplice.”
We knew it was a male, white, and Nina thought he had a stocky frame. The FBI claimed to be intensifying their search for the pilot in Florida. We’d see about that. I was back in the game again.
Dr. Campbell walked me down the maximum-security corridor inside Lorton Prison. Inmates glared out at us as we passed by. I glared back. I’m a good glarer, too.
Finally, we arrived at the cell block where Gary Soneji/Murphy was still being kept.
Soneji/Murphy’s cell, the entire corridor, was well-lighted, but he squinted up from his cot. It was as if he were peering out from a darkened cave.
It took a moment for him to recognize me.
When he finally did, he smiled. He still looked like this nice, small-town young man. Gary Murphy. A character out of a nineties remake of It’s a Wonderful Life. I remembered his friend Simon Conklin telling me how Gary Murphy could play any role he needed to. It was all part of his being in the Ninety-ninth Percentile.