Part 17 (1/2)
22.
Salisbury?” Lloyd said, making a face. ”You taking me to a club in Salisbury?”
”Where did you think we were going to go?”
”I dunno. Philly. Wilmington, even. A city.”
”Salisbury's a city.”
”Sh-it.”
They were driving along U.S. 50, the route they had taken east three days earlier, which now felt like a lifetime ago. It was the weekend of daylight savings time, so what was today's nine o'clock would be tomorrow's ten o'clock. The sky was inky black, with just a few stars poking through, like rips in a scrim. Crow enjoyed the quiet and the darkness, which reminded him of the countryside close to his hometown of Charlottesville. But Lloyd was too busy pouting about their destination to notice the world around him.
”A club?” Ed Keyes had echoed when Crow consulted him, scratching his red-stubbled chin. ”I might could get you in my VFW lodge, although I don't think they allow minors.”
”You belong to the Veterans of Foreign Wars?”
”Vietnam,” he said. ”I only joined to get access to the lodge parking lot. It's near a good clamming spot, but you can't park there unless you're a member. They tow.”
”Lloyd wants to go hear music, be around people his own age.”
”s.h.i.+t, I don't know. Ask the cas.h.i.+er over to the Sh.o.r.e Farms. I think she's got family down there.”
The bright-eyed young woman did know of a club, which she described in rushed, excited tones, clearly hopeful of an invitation. Crow felt almost guilty not taking her elaborate hints, but it would have complicated things, getting too close to anyone over here.
The club, such as it was, was in an abandoned bank in downtown Salisbury. From the outside there was little sign of the activity that marked the hot Baltimore clubs-a valet parker for the high-end SUVs, dolled-up women teetering on their high heels, the occasional gunshot-but the Sh.o.r.e Farms cas.h.i.+er had sworn by the place.
”Doesn't look like much,” said Lloyd, every inch the world-weary connoisseur. But how much experience could he really have in clubland? He wasn't of legal age, and he wasn't someone who could pa.s.s for older than he was, even with the best fake ID. They wouldn't have been able to come here if it weren't for the fact that it was ”Teen Night,” an alcohol-free evening for the high school set.
Lloyd pimp-walked toward the door, determined to be unimpressed. But when the second set of doors opened, revealing a packed room of girls in filmy tops and tight jeans dancing to a hooky hip-hop song that Crow recognized from listening to WERQ, Lloyd couldn't help smiling just a little. 'Twill do, his expression seemed to indicate, 'twill do.
”Sorry.” A bouncer's thick arm came down, a swift and certain barrier, blocking Crow from the club.
”But I'm with him.”
”Teen Night,” the man said. ”No one over nineteen admitted.”
”But-”
”You can come back and pick up your...son at midnight.”
”Today's midnight or tomorrow's midnight?” Crow asked.
”What?”
”Never mind. Look, I need to keep a watch on my friend. I promised his, um, people that I wouldn't let him out of my sight.”
”He somebody?” Asked with 90 percent skepticism, 10 percent hope. Lloyd could be some on-the-rise rapper, up from Atlanta, pa.s.sing through.
”You could say that.” Crow tried to load his voice with subtle insinuation, as if anyone who was anyone would recognize the young man who had just entered the club.
”And you're, what? Like his bodyguard?”
Crow gave the slightest of nods. It was true, in a fas.h.i.+on.
”Tough s.h.i.+t,” the bouncer decreed, folding his arms across his chest. ”See you at midnight. Tonight's midnight.”
Crow waved frantically at Lloyd, who was disappearing into a group of teenage girls, but he paid no attention. Crow would simply have to sit outside the club for the next three hours. Ah, well, it was an opportunity to find a convenience store, pick up new phones. He wondered why Tess hadn't called as instructed or at least left a message. Maybe he had chosen a provider that didn't work too well in her area. He'd try a new one this time. It was strange, not speaking to Tess directly for almost a week. She must be up to her eyeb.a.l.l.s in work. s.h.i.+t-the Ellen Mars case. He had forgotten that he was supposed to help Tess with that. But she had to understand that nothing was as urgent as keeping Lloyd safe.
While part of Lloyd felt superior to the teenagers dancing to what was an outmoded song back in Baltimore, a tired old thing that had been at the height of its popularity last fall, the girls were as pretty as any he'd seen back home. A stranger in their midst, he wasn't getting much play, but when he started cutting up, doing his trademark comic moves, they began to notice him. He set his sights on a dark-skinned shorty with processed hair and a juicy body. She didn't seem to be with anyone in particular, and she let him dance closer and closer to her. Now he had her eye, and she was smiling at him, matching her moves to his. He was smoothing it out now, toning it down so he looked serious about what he was doing but keeping his face clownish because she seemed to respond to that.
Thing was, he didn't have anything to tempt her with. Crow had paid his admission fee but neglected to give him any spending money, and he didn't want to go in search of him now to ask. That would be weak. He didn't have a car he could take her to, although he could always get one. That's why he had started learning to steal cars in the first place, to impress girls. But that would probably be a bad idea here. Country police didn't have enough work to fill their days. And the cracker types around here would probably come down hard on his black a.s.s. No, he couldn't invite her outside for a ride.
He felt the b.u.mp in his inside breast pocket, the unicorn box. Weed, now that was something he could offer.
He leaned in, his mouth close to her ear. She had a nice fruity smell. Might be gum or something she put on her hair.
”You smoke?” he asked.
Wide-eyed, she shook her head. What was this, like, Teen and Church Night?
”Wanna try?”
To his delight she nodded and took his hand, leading him to the bathrooms at the rear of the club. With a quick glance around for lurking authority figures, she ducked into the men's room, and he followed. The stall's lock was broken, but the old metal frame was warped enough to hold the door.
”You're pretty,” he said, not thinking clearly, allowing what was in his head to pop out. That was a punk thing to say. Le'andro always said you shouldn't compliment a girl too early in the game. ”What's your name?”
”Glory.”
”Gloria?”
”Uh-uh. Glory. You're not from here, are you?”
”Naw,” he said pridefully. ”I'm from Baltimore. East Side.”
There was an awkward silence, and he tried to think of something to ask her, but to his amazement and delight she started kissing him. She might not have smoked before, but she seemed familiar enough with this. Maybe he wouldn't have to break out the weed after all.