Angels of Detroit (41 page)

The first things he saw, when he opened the door, were Mike and Tim standing side by side, perfectly still at the far end of the living room. Their jumpsuits were dry. They’d been waiting a long time.

The two men broke toward him in the same instant. The door was still open behind him, but Dobbs didn’t bother trying to run.

“You brought this on yourself,” Mike said as the flames on his forearms danced in Dobbs’s eyes.

And then Dobbs was on the ground, and there was a stampede on his ribs and spine.

Tim, standing by the door watching, said, “This won’t end well for you.”

But then again, Dobbs thought, maybe the end had already come.

Even in the poor light just before dawn, Darius could tell how clean the alley was, the crumbling pavement looking as though it had just been swept. From the steel door at the far end, someone had hung a holly wreath. But it was only September; the perfect little berries had to be plastic.

Michael Boni knocked, and a few moments passed before Darius heard feet shuffling somewhere within. As the door swung open, the alley was bathed in music, playful notes dancing across a piano keyboard, accompanied by the resonant thumps of an upright bass. And then the trumpet entered, the player unmistakable. As Darius and Michael Boni passed through, Satchmo broke out scatting. For a moment, Darius felt as though he were stepping back in time. On the other side of the door, he half-expected to see a room full of closely shaven men gnawing on cigars as they stacked poker chips into miniature battlements.

But the room was almost entirely empty. The air smelled warm
and yeasty. An elderly black woman stood with her hand on the knob. “Welcome,” she said.

The place was a restaurant, but Darius couldn’t begin to guess what kind. An assortment of mismatched booths lined the dining room, the walls decorated with landscapes from several different continents. Just inside the door, a marble-topped table that at one time must have belonged to a sidewalk café propped up a sign reading
PLEASE WAIT TO BE SEATED
.

Michael Boni nodded casually to the old woman. “How’s business?”

“Suddenly picking up.”

Constance led Darius and Michael Boni across the room to the farthest booth from the door. Leaning over the table, she tipped a lighter in the mason jar candle.

“We’re not on a date,” Michael Boni said, and the old woman frowned as he blew out the flame. Darius might have apologized for his rudeness, but by now Constance must have understood who she was dealing with.

As usual, Michael Boni hadn’t bothered to explain their destination. It wasn’t so much that he enjoyed surprises. It was just that—as best Darius could figure—Michael Boni preferred to be the only one who ever knew what was going on. But Darius had heard so much about Constance that this, whatever this was, hardly felt like a secret. He was just pleased to see the woman in person. But now that he was here, he realized she was nothing like he’d imagined, older and frailer. The way Michael Boni had talked about her, Darius had expected some sort of sage, not an elderly waitress who looked more than a little like his own grandmother.

“Well?” Constance said.

Michael Boni shrugged. “What do you have?”

“What do you think?”

“Stew?” Michael Boni didn’t bother to hide his grimace. “Meat?”

“Not unless you brought one of your birds.”

Michael Boni’s eyes narrowed in on her, and she stared right straight back.

Darius wondered if Michael Boni had any relationships that weren’t entirely antagonistic.

When she was gone, Michael Boni thumped his elbows onto the table. “What do you think?”

Darius paused to take another look around. He’d never seen anything like it: the ill-assorted furniture, the plastic plants, the crooked fixtures, the randomly assembled parts and pieces. “Did she do all this herself?”

“I helped.” Michael Boni seemed so pleased with everything he saw, Darius couldn’t help wondering if the restaurant was supposed to be like the lettuce, another of Michael Boni’s symbols.

Constance returned with a tarnished silver tray, which she set down before them on the table. On the tray was a wooden cutting board, and on the board a bent and knobby baguette that looked like the branch of some ancient tree. The bread was ugly, but it smelled incredible. And there was a small pot of coffee and several cups. Constance may not have been a sage, but she could read Darius’s mind.

“Would you do the honors?” She slid the board in front of him.

The teeth of the knife sawed in. Shards of crust, thick as bark, shot across the tabletop. And then, almost instantly, there was no more resistance. A puff of steam swirled out of the cut, and the flesh fell away from the knife as if it were no more than air.

“Try it,” she said.

Darius put down the knife and picked up a slice. Together that golden shell and the fragile web in the middle melted into a cloud of warmth and nothingness.

The bread was one of the most delicious things he’d ever put in his mouth. Maybe Constance was a sage after all. Maybe, Darius thought, a second bite would answer the question once and for all. But just as he was reaching out for another piece, the door to the alley swung open.

McGee had arrived.

“I was beginning to wonder,” Michael Boni shouted, as if over the clamor of a lunch-hour rush. And then something changed in his expression, a sour, unpleasant look of surprise.

McGee wasn’t alone. Behind her, emerging cautiously from the alley, was a tall, pretty blonde.

“Who the fuck is this?” Michael Boni said.

McGee gestured for the girl to follow. “A friend.”

McGee betrayed no reaction to the place, but the tall, pretty blonde was glancing around the dining room with her jaw set at an unpretty angle. Darius had seen her once before, through the glass of his guard booth. Just like on that night, she was following a step behind McGee, as if tethered by a string.

Michael Boni slid over to make room for McGee. Darius did the same for the pretty blonde. She gave him a faint, mechanical smile out of the side of her mouth.

“We haven’t been introduced,” Darius said, offering his hand.

“April.”

He tried not to be offended that she shook so warily.

Constance had been watching silently, as if waiting for something to happen. Now, with everyone settled, she threw a kitchen towel over her shoulder and retreated to the back room.

Michael Boni was still looking cross. “Is there anyone else you two are planning to invite without telling me?”

“Relax,” McGee said, slipping out of her coat.

April raised her hips and slid a phone from her back pocket, lowering her eyes to the screen. “Don’t let me interrupt.”

Michael Boni looked as though he was going to say something in response, but then he turned to McGee instead.

“It’s fine,” McGee said. “I’m listening. I’m here. Let’s get started.”

Michael Boni reached for the coffeepot, taking his time pouring a cup. Now everyone was waiting for him, which was how he seemed to prefer it.

His cup full, he slapped a notepad onto the table. “I drew a map.”

McGee was quick to grab it. She spent a moment looking the drawing over. “There’s another entrance here.” She pointed to a spot. “More out of the way.”

Then Michael Boni was staring at Darius, waiting for him to take a look. To say something, to have some sort of opinion. But from where Darius was sitting, the map was upside down. He tried turning his head. But even if everything had been right side up, he doubted he would’ve been able to make any sense of it. The place was too distracting. Plastic grapes dangled from the partition behind Michael Boni’s head, making him look as though he were wearing giant purple earrings. Across the room, a small, duct-taped fish tank lined with pink and blue gravel sat beneath a sign that said
SKATES SHARPENED WHILE YOU WAIT
.

“Well?” Michael Boni said.

“It’s fine.”

“That’s all you’ve got?”

Darius leaned forward, squinting into the far corner of the dining room, at something half hidden behind a pile of boxes. “Is that a barber chair?”

April glanced up from her phone and looked to where Darius was looking. “I think so.”

“Can we focus on this?” Michael Boni said, tapping his finger on the map. “Can we leave the decorations for later?”

From the kitchen came the clanging of pots, the scent of onion and garlic sizzling in oil. Darius wondered how long it took to make a stew. A slow simmer, a low flame?

“What time is it?” he said.

Michael Boni frowned. “You have somewhere to be?”

Darius could think of a lot of other places he’d like to be. Unlike the rest of them, he’d been up all night working. Grabbing one of the mugs, he poured himself some coffee. Most of all, he would’ve liked
to crawl into bed. That’s where Sylvia was. Shawn and Nina, too. That was where all the sensible people were.

“How’s the bread?” April asked quietly in Darius’s direction, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“Delicious.”

And Violet would be in bed, too. But that was an image Darius tried to wipe from his mind. He’d been trying to wipe it away for a long time now.

Michael Boni and McGee had drawn closer on their side of the table, elbows touching as they bent over the map. Darius hadn’t been wrong about the two of them. They really were meant for each other.

April plunged the serrated edge of the knife into the crust, like a handsaw hacking through wood.

Michael Boni looked up, not bothering to hide his irritation.

April continued sawing until the bread tumbled free. “Oh,” she said, “am I interrupting?”

“Yes,” Michael Boni said.

“It’s fine,” McGee said. “That’s why it’s there.”

The crust ground beneath April’s straight white teeth. “So what’s it going to be this time?”

McGee glanced up distractedly. “Hmm?”

“What are you demolishing this time?” April said, tearing off another hunk. “There was what—the shoe place, the supermarket, the …”

“Jazz club,” Darius offered, and April thanked him with a tip of her crust.

“We can talk about it later,” McGee said.

April leaned across the table, peering at the notebook page. “I want to talk about it now.”

McGee tried to put on a patient smile. “You said before you didn’t want to know.”

“I changed my mind.”

“If you want to help,” McGee said, “great.”

April looked from McGee to Michael Boni. “Help do what?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Michael Boni said.

April focused in on him. “Blow shit up?”

Michael Boni spent a moment sourly exploring the gaps and grooves of his teeth. “There’s more to it than that.”

April shrugged. “From the stories in the paper, I really couldn’t tell.”

Michael Boni turned to McGee. “Is she always like this?”

“No,” April said before McGee had a chance to answer. “I’m trying something new.”

“This has nothing to do with you,” Michael Boni said.

McGee reached out and put her hand on April’s slender arm. “I explained it to you.”

“But
why
?” April said, pulling her arm back toward her lap. “That’s what I want to know. This isn’t you. You don’t just destroy things.”

“Have you been outside?” Michael Boni said. “Have you looked around?”

McGee nodded. “It’s already destroyed.”

“But this?” April glanced around the restaurant. “Is this what you want instead?”

“Why not?” Michael Boni said.

“It’s still ruins.” Darius said, the sound of his voice surprising even himself. “It’s just ruins made into something else.”

“What did you expect?” Michael Boni said. “Skyscrapers?”

Darius had never stopped to put it into words, but yes, he supposed he did. And why not? This place certainly wasn’t what he wanted. Castoffs, scraps, leftover trash from businesses that had failed or fled or gone up in flames. How could McGee and Michael Boni not see how depressing this was?

“It’s just nerves talking,” McGee said. “Stress.”

Darius took a slow sip of coffee. “It’s been a long time since I felt this calm.” He turned to April. “How about you?”

“I feel fine.”

Darius turned to McGee and Michael Boni. “We feel fine.”

In a whisper, April said, “Maybe it’s the two of you feeling nerves.”

Now Michael Boni was glaring at Darius. “You’ve known all along.”

Had he? He was no longer sure. All he’d ever really wanted was to be a better sort of person, the sort of man who provided for the future, who fixed what was broken. Above all else, he’d wanted to stop being weak. But what would Sylvia say, he wondered, if she were to see him in this dump, surrounded by these characters? Would she see the new man he’d been trying to become?

They’d known each other more than thirty years. All the way back to elementary school. No one believed them when they told the story, how he and Sylvia had grown up on the same block, identical adjacent buildings, apartments on the very same floor, rooms in the very same corner. But they’d been kids; they’d thought everything worked that way. And how one day when they were eight years old, they’d smuggled rulers home from school, and in their separate bedrooms they’d measured the exact same spot on the exact same wall, and there they’d drawn a circle, and into that circle they’d pretended they could talk to each other. Into that circle they could say whatever they wanted, could share their every secret. This went on for years, until over time they gradually forgot, the circles eventually fading. But by then Darius and Sylvia were inseparable, no longer needed their imaginations.

The mistake Darius had made was assuming everything with Sylvia would always come that easily.

He’d tried to change, and he’d failed. Ever since the day he’d seen what was in Michael Boni’s garage, Darius hadn’t been able to go a single day without getting tangled in Violet’s limbs. Nothing had worked out like he’d planned. He’d wanted to be a better person. Instead, he’d just made things worse.

In less than an hour, Sylvia would be waking up. If he wasn’t there when it happened, he’d miss his chance to see her. Another day would pass in which he wouldn’t get to curl up beside her, wouldn’t
feel the warmth at the back of her knees. And then Darius found his mind wandering up from Sylvia’s knees to warmth at higher points on Violet, places less subtle but agonizingly unforgettable, no matter how hard he tried to forget them.