Baptist DISTINCTIVE: An Adam Mykonos Mystery (The Adam Myknonos Mystries) by Thomas Gillen Page B

called it a Bodega,
or the Conner Store, here it just was what it was. And what it was a notorious
drug spot. Few people if any stopped unless their business was with the Coke
boys who lined the parking lot.
      From
half a block away I spotted Jim Sinclair’s big old Humvee sitting in the
lot.   He had just turned the ignition key
and with the window rolled down said something to a tall skinny black kid in
green hooide.   Sinclair zipped out three
cars in front of us and as his pick up rolled away I looked over at the face of
the young man back in the parking lot.   And will wonders never cease it was my
step-daughters sometime boyfriend Carlton “Catfish” Johnson.
    “Stan, do me a favor swing around the block
and then pull into that store’s lot.”
    Stan’s eyebrow went way up “That place?”
    “If you don’t mind I need to talk to someone.”
    Stan Grant has been a good friend to me
over the years and I have put him in a number of situations that I am quite
sure he was not happy about, this one just shot to the top of the list, but he did
what I asked and swung around the block and back to the parking lot.
    By the time we pulled in Catfish was on the
little walk way by the front entrance to the place talking to three other kids.
He was leaning against an ice machine his hoodie pulled down half over his eyes
and his pants hanging so low that it looked like they were filled with an unspeakable
mess.   Stan slide the big old Lesabre
into a spot near the front.
    “Can you just get out and kind of lean
against the hood and look mean?” I asked somewhat sheepishly. Stan is a head
shorter than me but he is built like a farmer, his arms are the size of tree
trunks and his short squat legs look like timbers.
    He smiled “I have five kids, looking mean
is what I do most nights.”
    We got out of the car; as we did the eyes
of the four kids hit us. It took Catfish a minute to recognize me.   He looked for a moment like he was going to
bolt and so I said as I walked towards them.
    “Running just going to make you look like a
coward Carlton.   Be a man and stand your
ground, boy.”
    His friends snickered and he reared himself
up. He was taller than me and much thinner, in fact he looked like a good meal
could kill him.
    “I ain’t been near that ho since we talked
man.”
    I moved in fast and high, pinning him
against the ice machine with my left arm wedged against his throat.   From the corner of my eye I saw Stan lean
against the hood of the car, cross his massive arms and smile at the others, he
was right he did do mean.
    “Did you just call my child a ho?” I asked
softly.
    He shook his head “No No”
    “So now you are saying I am so old I am
going deaf?” I increased the pressure on his neck. As I had expected, because
the truth is there is no honor among thieves, his buddies were more interested
in laughing at him than helping him.
    “No man, I mean I didn’t mean anything by
it.” Catfish was sweating and smelled more than a little like his namesake.
    “All I meant is I ain’t been anywhere near
Roberta since you asked me to stay away from her.” He mumbled.
    “I didn’t ask you Carlton I told you. And
you have been a good boy so far. “
    I let up on his throat and moved back a
step from him. “Now I need you to tell me about the white guy who just drove
off in the pickup.”
    “What white guy?”
    “Carlton, Carlton Carlton” I said sadly
“This conversation is going to go badly if you don’t learn to co-op-er-ate.”
    “Green Humvee?”
    “Yep.”
    “You ain’t back to being a cop are you?”
    I shook my head “Now how would a con like me
be a cop again Carlton?   I just want to
know kid, just asking questions.”
    “What if he don’t answer” shouted one of
his friends.
    “Yeah, you aint the po po I don’t got to
answer you.” Catfish added feeling brave because of his buddy’s mouth.
    I snapped open the door of the ice chest
and twisted Catfish’s arm around behind