Read Online The Turnaround by George Pelecanos - Free Book Online Page A

tracks, thick woods and vines in full summer green.
    “It’s a turnaround,” said Alex, as if in wonder.
    “The hell it is,” said Billy. “It’s a dead end.”
    Billy put the Ford through a three-point maneuver, slamming the automatic shifter into reverse, then into drive, and headed back up the street. The young men were standing in the road, not moving toward them, not yelling anymore. The shirtless one who had been hit by the pie looked to be smiling.
    Billy tore his bandanna off his head, letting his black hair fall free. He turned left at the intersection, and the tires cried as they passed more houses in disrepair and an old black lady walking a small dog, then they came to a T in the road and all looked right and left. On the right, the road became a circle. On the left, the road ended with another striped barrier bordering woods. All of them pondered their stupidity and bad luck, and no one said a word.
    Billy turned the car around and drove back to the main road. He stopped at the intersection and looked left. Two of the young men were spread out in the middle of the road, spaced so the Ford could not pass through. The other had taken a position on the sidewalk. An older black woman with eyeglasses had appeared and was standing on the porch of the country market.
    Pete touched the handle of the door.
    “Pete,” said Billy.
    “ Fuck this,” said Pete. He opened the door, leaped out, closed the door behind him, and took off. He ran toward the woods at the end of the street, the soles of his three-stripes kicking up as he slashed left and hit the railroad tracks without breaking stride.
    Alex felt betrayal and envy churn inside him as he watched Pete vanish behind the tree line. Alex wanted to book, too, but he could not. It wasn’t just loyalty to Billy. It was the suspicion that he would not make it to the woods. He was not as fast as Pete. They’d catch up to him, and the fact that he had run would only make it worse. Maybe Billy could talk them out of this. Billy could just apologize, and the ones in the street would see that what they’d done was nothing more than a stupid prank.
    “I can’t leave my dad’s car,” said Billy very quietly. He hit the gas and went back up the road, the way they’d come in.
    She is my parents’ age, thought Alex, looking at the older woman wearing eyeglasses who stood on the porch in front of the store. She will stop this. His heart dropped as he watched her turn and walk into the market.
    Billy stopped the Torino and locked the shifter into park about fifty feet from the young men. He stepped out of the car, leaving the door open. Alex watched him walk toward the young men, who gathered around him in the street. He heard Billy’s amiable voice say, “Can’t we work this out?” He saw Billy’s hands go up, as if in surrender. A lightning right came forward from one of the shirtless young men, and Billy’s head snapped back. He stumbled and put a hand to his mouth. When he lowered his hand there was blood on it, and Billy spit blood and saliva to the ground.
    “You knocked my teeth out,” said Billy. “You satisfied?”
    Billy turned and pointed at Alex, still seated in the backseat of the Torino.
    “Take off!” shouted Billy, blood and anguish on his face.
    Alex pushed the driver’s seat forward and got out of the car. His feet hit the asphalt lightly, and he turned. He was grabbed from behind and thrown forward, and he tripped and went down on all fours. He heard footsteps behind him and was lifted off his knees by a fierce kick in his groin. The air left his lungs in a rush. When he caught his breath, he puked beer and bile. He panted furiously, watching his vomit steaming on the asphalt before him. He rolled onto his side and closed his eyes.
    When Alex’s eyes opened, he saw a foot rushing toward his face, and it hit him like a hammer.
    “Shoot that motherfucker!”
    “Nah.”
    “Shoot him!”
    “Nah, man, nah . . .”
    “Do it!”
    Another