Read Online Shame the Devil by George P. Pelecanos - Free Book Online
Authors: George P. Pelecanos
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across the wooden floor. Wasn’t no kind of trick to
gettin’ pussy when you got down to it. You just needed to know how to talk to a woman, that was all.
“Say, man,” said Otis as he scanned to 100.3, L.A.’s slow-jam station, on the radio dial.
“What,” said Lavonicus.
“You get to keep one of those red, white, and blue balls when you came out of the league?”
Lavonicus breathed through his mouth as he thought it over. He had thick red clown lips and large gapped teeth. Otis found
him to be an ugly man — like that Jaws-lookin’ sucker from that bad run of Bond movies — but he understood why his sister
Cissy loved him. The man was as loyal as a spinster to her vibrator.
“Naw, I didn’t keep one,” Lavonicus said, his voice monotonous and deep.
“ ’Cause I’d pay good money to have me one of those with some of your old teammates’ autographs on it. Especially Marvin Barnes
and Fly Williams. Listen, I was incarcerated when y’all were playin’, and they didn’t even televise those ABA games back then.
But even so, Barnes and Williams were legends in the joint. Those were two black men who took shit from no one.”
“Barnes and Williams both ended up doing time.”
“That’s what I know.”
“Barnes.” Lavonicus shook his head. “He could party all night and still play. Fly gave himself that nickname, but nobody was
more fly than Marvin Barnes. The man drove a Rolls-Royce, wore a full-length mink, platform shoes… shit.”
“Y’all had Maurice Lucas, right?”
“Uh-huh. Freddie Lewis, too. Caldwell Jones…”
“And Moses Malone?”
“For a while.”
“Shoot, man, why didn’t you win the championship?”
“We beat the Nets and Dr. J. in the first round of the play-offs.”
“Yeah, I remember that.”
“But the Kentucky Colonels took us to school after that. Hell, Roman, we were just out there having fun.” Lavonicus smiled.
His knees touched the dash. He lowered his head to look through the windshield. They were heading west on Little Santa Monica.
“Where we going, bro?”
“Frank’s supposed to call me any minute on my cell. Gotta pull over when he calls, ’cause we need to have a serious talk.”
“What about after that?” said Lavonicus.
Otis said, “Gonna pick us up a couple of guns.”
Otis turned up the volume on the radio. The O’Jays were doing “Brandy.” Now that was one pretty song.
“Sippin’ on a cherry soda pop,” sang Otis, “building houses made of sand…”
He looked out the driver’s window as he sang, let his hand dangle in the wind. Palm trees in the middle of the city. Who would
want to live anywhere else?
Now he’d have to make some money to keep this lifestyle going. Because it couldn’t get much better than this. Cruising through
Los Angeles in a Mark V, the sun shining every day, listening to the O’Jays… free.
SEVEN
I’LL GET THIS,” said Bernie Walters as the waitress laid the check on the table.
Thomas Wilson put his hand over the check and slid it in front of him. “I got it, man.”
“C’mon, Thomas, you always buy.”
“That way, y’all can’t never say that a man who hauls trash for a living didn’t hold up his end.”
Walters and Wilson sat at a four-top in the Brew Hause, a glorified beer garden on 22nd, one block east of the church. The
waitresses here were forced to wear ridiculous outfits, a combination of Heidi and Pippi Longstocking, and it showed on their
embarrassed, overworked faces. Karras and Stephanie Maroulis had done a round and left a half hour earlier.
“So you and Charles used to hang at Fort Stevens when you were kids,” said Walters.
“Yeah. We played army, cowboys-and-indians and shit over at that fort all the time.”
“Vance always wanted to go there when he was a boy, but I never got around to taking him. Might as well add it to the list:
another thing I never did with Vance.”
“You were a good father, Bern.”
“Yeah, sure.”
gettin’ pussy when you got down to it. You just needed to know how to talk to a woman, that was all.
“Say, man,” said Otis as he scanned to 100.3, L.A.’s slow-jam station, on the radio dial.
“What,” said Lavonicus.
“You get to keep one of those red, white, and blue balls when you came out of the league?”
Lavonicus breathed through his mouth as he thought it over. He had thick red clown lips and large gapped teeth. Otis found
him to be an ugly man — like that Jaws-lookin’ sucker from that bad run of Bond movies — but he understood why his sister
Cissy loved him. The man was as loyal as a spinster to her vibrator.
“Naw, I didn’t keep one,” Lavonicus said, his voice monotonous and deep.
“ ’Cause I’d pay good money to have me one of those with some of your old teammates’ autographs on it. Especially Marvin Barnes
and Fly Williams. Listen, I was incarcerated when y’all were playin’, and they didn’t even televise those ABA games back then.
But even so, Barnes and Williams were legends in the joint. Those were two black men who took shit from no one.”
“Barnes and Williams both ended up doing time.”
“That’s what I know.”
“Barnes.” Lavonicus shook his head. “He could party all night and still play. Fly gave himself that nickname, but nobody was
more fly than Marvin Barnes. The man drove a Rolls-Royce, wore a full-length mink, platform shoes… shit.”
“Y’all had Maurice Lucas, right?”
“Uh-huh. Freddie Lewis, too. Caldwell Jones…”
“And Moses Malone?”
“For a while.”
“Shoot, man, why didn’t you win the championship?”
“We beat the Nets and Dr. J. in the first round of the play-offs.”
“Yeah, I remember that.”
“But the Kentucky Colonels took us to school after that. Hell, Roman, we were just out there having fun.” Lavonicus smiled.
His knees touched the dash. He lowered his head to look through the windshield. They were heading west on Little Santa Monica.
“Where we going, bro?”
“Frank’s supposed to call me any minute on my cell. Gotta pull over when he calls, ’cause we need to have a serious talk.”
“What about after that?” said Lavonicus.
Otis said, “Gonna pick us up a couple of guns.”
Otis turned up the volume on the radio. The O’Jays were doing “Brandy.” Now that was one pretty song.
“Sippin’ on a cherry soda pop,” sang Otis, “building houses made of sand…”
He looked out the driver’s window as he sang, let his hand dangle in the wind. Palm trees in the middle of the city. Who would
want to live anywhere else?
Now he’d have to make some money to keep this lifestyle going. Because it couldn’t get much better than this. Cruising through
Los Angeles in a Mark V, the sun shining every day, listening to the O’Jays… free.
SEVEN
I’LL GET THIS,” said Bernie Walters as the waitress laid the check on the table.
Thomas Wilson put his hand over the check and slid it in front of him. “I got it, man.”
“C’mon, Thomas, you always buy.”
“That way, y’all can’t never say that a man who hauls trash for a living didn’t hold up his end.”
Walters and Wilson sat at a four-top in the Brew Hause, a glorified beer garden on 22nd, one block east of the church. The
waitresses here were forced to wear ridiculous outfits, a combination of Heidi and Pippi Longstocking, and it showed on their
embarrassed, overworked faces. Karras and Stephanie Maroulis had done a round and left a half hour earlier.
“So you and Charles used to hang at Fort Stevens when you were kids,” said Walters.
“Yeah. We played army, cowboys-and-indians and shit over at that fort all the time.”
“Vance always wanted to go there when he was a boy, but I never got around to taking him. Might as well add it to the list:
another thing I never did with Vance.”
“You were a good father, Bern.”
“Yeah, sure.”
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